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Duntuk
Fearless. Unrelenting. Brutal. Duntuk Icegore represents the wrath of the Horde in every aspect, from his brutish demeanor, to his zero-tolerance attitude towards any form of crime within the Horde - regardless of race, or setting. In life he served the wicked Horde of the First War, and with his free will restored, he serves and polices the Horde in the name of the Warchief. Although he bears the shame of formerly being a juggernaut of the Scourge and a soulless killing machine, he now defends his people and faction... And he intends on defending them until he is one with the earth below his feet; for not even death has stopped his servitude to the Warchief, nor the path of terror he has mangled and tore for the past one-hundred and sixteen years of his life. Personality Duntuk can be regarded as cold, hateful, and fearsome in demeanor to those whom he is not familiar with. He prefers to keep an image of respect and authority - oftentimes considered one of loathing and hate, but respect and authority, nonetheless. He is savage and abominable when threatened or insulted. Duntuk indeed prefers to reduce those who challenge him in any manner to a pile of bloody limbs, than be made to look like a fool. To those which he would regard as familiars he can be found to be somewhat humorous, friendly, and in very rare cases, kind and compassionate. Duntuk is not racist by any means. He sees a friend in those who display might, and a foe/lesser being in those who cower and show weakness. Be it elf, tauren, undead, or troll - those with great inner and physical strength will find a staunch ally in Duntuk Icegore. Appearance Bulging, scarred muscle seems to be constricted under dark-gray, frostbitten skin, long-unused, swollen and frozen veins pushed and constricted between the two. He is a fine physical specimen. Not an ounce of fat can be seen on his body,which is well preserved, despite being 'dead' for a number of years. Numerous scars streak across his skin, ground into his body like the tracks of a Scourge meat wagon. Although he does not require the need to eat or exercise now, his powerful frame and gruesome scars tell the story of his life, a life of war and chaos. His facial features have been well preserved, alabaster cheekbones and a bit of decay around his lips being the only exception. He typically keeps what hair he has left pulled back into a topknot, and sports a pair of muttonchops, frozen in time from his last moments alive. Typically, Duntuk can be seen sporting worn, well-crafted plate armor, adorned with spikes and trinkets such as a mess of human skulls, large and small - tied to his belt. When not buried under heaps of cold steel, he tends to wear a more traditional outfit, such as a sarong, paired with obsidian war beads wrapped around his massive forearms and a fearsome set of ritualist horns, or a lupine cowl. Combat Duntuk is a fearsome opponent, always wielding some sort of barbaric weapon,his brute strength, and the abilities of a death knight in battle. He is also well trained in mag'hari grappling and hand-to-hand combat, known as Naakh'ufurz ('Fearful Hand' in common), making him a dangerous opponent in close quarters. He possesses an uncanny talent for manipulating the cold, having spent many years trapped in ice. Such things pale in comparison, however, to his expertise with weapons. Although typically seen using an axe, he is also known for wielding clubs, swords, and spears with deadly efficiency. Although he refuses to teach other races his hand-to-hand combat techniques, he does not mind instructing and training others upon request, in hopes of creating a new generation of deadly combatants for the Horde. History Early Life Born into a clanless, roving band of bandits and raiders, Duntuk had everything bestowed upon his keen mind, from a mastery in small-scale, skirmish battle tactics, to a rather vast knowledge of warfare and combat, by his father. Surviving amongst his father's war band required such, as opposing the clans at that time - opposing orcs such as Blackhand while weathering the assaults and skirmishes between ogres and themselves, more specifically, required something other than brute strength. His mother was a kind hearted, caring seer, and the matron of their mock "clan". The title 'matron' did not hold much meaning or salt to them, however, for the spirits held no sway over the bloodthirsty, marauding gang of orcs. This, however, would be their downfall, as at the young age of twenty, Duntuk was forced to watch his father and brother be executed, and was only spared after submitting to the might of the Sythegore Arm. It was here he would further his prowess in battle, and his tactical knowledge. Mannoroth's Offer Many years later, Duntuk had matured into a mighty, fearsome raider. It was at his peak that the tragic events which led to the orcs' damnation took place, and the blood of Mannoroth was offered to the clans and their chieftans by Grom Hellscream. While some of the orcs questioned such things before consuming the blood, Duntuk imbibed the cursed blood, cementing him as a member of the Old Horde. After ravaging and sacking draenei cities and settlements, his mind hazed with demonic bloodlust, he followed his fellow orcs to Azeroth. Rampage Across Azeroth: The First War Departing through the Dark Portal around the time that Blackhand the Destroyer rose to power, Duntuk had more than a hand in razing the settlements in and around the Black Morass. Eventually, the orcs would push to the towns of Grand Hamlet and Sunnyglade, only fueling their lust for violence more. Before the sacking of Stormwind, however, Duntuk's path of destruction would change. Capture and Escape In a small skirmish off the path to Sunnyglade, Duntuk found himself separated from his band of raiders by a platoon of human soldiers. Vastly outnumbered and overpowered, he took his chances with being taken captive - and if the time came, escaping. Thankfully, that time came in a matter of hours, in the black of night. Bound only by his wrists, Duntuk silently strangled the guard dragging him along on horseback, and commandeered the steed for himself. Before the soldiers had time to react, Duntuk had began to blaze a trail past Elwynn, into Westfall, and towards the coast. Lost, and abandoned without a weapon or any kind of map or means of guidance, Duntuk slew and field-dressed two hardy coyotes, looted what crops and other things he could before the sounds of soldiers could be heard, and took to the sea in a rowboat. The Lengthy Journey Days later, Duntuk floated aimlessly along miles and miles of endless ocean, having only followed the coast. He was getting along quite well - he had blindly stolen a sack full of corn and beans, and still had a mess of raw coyote to eat. Although he was getting along fine, insanity began to set in, once days turned to weeks. Landing on the frigid shores of Dragonblight weeks later, Duntuk began to wander aimlessly through the frozen wasteland, living off of the wildlife and setting up temporary shelters as he traveled. The feeling of bitter abandonment consumed his soul - he was thousands of miles away from anyone he knew, and light years away from his home. Duntuk slowly slipped into lethargy as he wondered hopelessly through the wastes. A Bitter End Finally arriving at the Dragon Wastes, insanity finally consumed Duntuk. The sight of dead and dying dragons, the largest and most fierce creatures he had ever seen, filled him with fear. He began to run, and ran for hours on end. Only until he arrived at a large, inconspicuous looking cave did his fit of overwhelming fear break. He made his way into the cave, with intentions of staying there for the night. Unfortunately, he had discovered the entrance to Azjol-Nerub, the kingdom of the mysterious nerubians. Duntuk Icegore was killed in his sleep by the creatures, stripped bare of his foreign possessions and clothing, and tossed into a pit far, far away from any prying eyes, be they nerubian or not. Duntuk Icegore had died a lonely, sorrowful death. And although his body lay frozen and forgotten at the bottom of pit, his role as a tool of destruction had not yet ended. Service to the Lich King Many years later, Duntuk awoke to the chittering, clicking voices of the nerubians. In those few, awkward seconds vefore he felt the Lich King's grasp he leaped to his feet, and proceeded to kill at least a dozen of them with a stone. He then attempted to escape Azjol-Nerub - only to be greeted by the psychic roar of the Lich King's dominance. Duntuk walked Azeroth once more. Geared for war and sent to the Eastern Plaguelands during the third Scourge invasion, Duntuk rampaged through the Eastern Kingdoms with his fellow knights once more, as if nothing had changed - his bloodlust had been replaced with the hatred of the Lich King. Duntuk marched through the Scarlet Enclave, leaving no man, woman or child alive. Mercy would shine upon him soon, however. After the infamous Battle for Light's Hope Chapel had ended, Duntuk felt remorse wash over his body. Innumerable images of the pain and agony he had caused filled his head - most notably, leaving his mother to die of the red pox back on Draenor. Duntuk made his way to Orgrimmar, cleaned his name somewhat, and then climbed upon the familiar, furred back of a riding wolf, headed for the Dark Portal. Going Home For the first time in many decades, Duntuk's feet touched the gentle, rolling grass of Nagrand. He had spent several months tracking any signs of uncorrupted orcs, and had finally been pointed in the right direction. After a few hours of searching, he had finally made his way to Garadar. Although given a rather cold greeting - if you could even call it a greeting, Duntuk soon found kinship among the mag'har after making mention of his mother, Thanga. Duntuk felt as though his pride and spirit had been replenished, and that he now had one goal in what was left of his life: to defend the Horde with all of the might within his body. He sorrowfully departed from Garadar, and then proceeded to make his way back through the Dark Portal, towards Orgrimmar...